


Crocus

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 10:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9890492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Master Sam watches his gardener at work.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He stares wistfully out the window most of the time on most days, at least, the ones where Frodo’s working. Haloed in the morning sun, Frodo’s a welcome beauty: complete perfection every which way he turns. He puts his foot on the end of his shovel and pushes it into the earth, then straightens up to wipe his wrist across his brow, clearing a stray bead of sweat. It ruffles his dark curls, though they look all the better when they’re tussled. In a way, Frodo Baggins looks too _pretty_ for garden work, too delicate and invaluable. In truth, Sam could do it himself. He’s always had a green thumb.

But Frodo came with the property, taking over after his uncle’s retirement, and, if possible, Sam likes Frodo even more than Bilbo. He likes Frodo _differently_. Certainly more than his old gaffer, who’s fond of both, but never seems to understand Sam’s hopeless captivation. Every movement Frodo makes draws Sam all the closer. 

Frodo turns from the hole he’s dug for the sapling, and in reaching for the baby tree, his silver necklace is jostled from his neck. It comes suddenly undone, escapes his notice, and falls into the hole below, while Frodo’s still untying the bag around the new tree’s roots.

It’s Sam chance. He takes it in a heartbeat, darting out the front door and half-running around the garden, drawing Frodo’s eyes. With a sheepish smile, Sam jogs to the edge of the hole and ducks in to retrieve the chain, one golden ring clinking along it. He holds it out to Frodo and practically stutters, “’Saw you drop this from the window.”

“Why thank you, Master Sam,” Frodo chirps, bright as a star in no time. He reaches out for it. 

But Sam quickly steps around him, offering instead, “I can put it back on.”

So Frodo says, “Thank you, Sir,” and reaches back to lift some of his curls out of the way. The proximity instantly gives Sam a blush, but at least he’s behind Frodo to hide it. He draws the chain around Frodo’s slender neck and re-clasps it in the back, shivering at the brush of silken locks. Frodo’s one big walking temptation. Frodo lays a hand over the ring when it’s done, clutching it to his chest, and grins over his shoulder. Sam just gives another too-wide smile. 

He feels like an idiot. He just stays, standing there, while Frodo slowly turns around, still close, feet fitting perfectly between his own, about his height but thinner and fairer, with two bright, blue eyes that could inspire a thousand songs—

“Frodo!” a familiar voice calls, then whistles. The moment quickly snaps, Frodo looking aside, and Sam follows suit, to see Meriadoc Brandybuck leaning over his gate. “When’re you done work? Pip’s driving me crazy at the inn—you can’t leave me with him even another hour!”

Frodo gives a twinkling laugh and calls back, “That’s unfortunate, because I believe an hour is what I have left. Now off with you—you shouldn’t pester me on the job.”

Meriadoc waves his hand dismissively, and Sam, who’s never had a reason to dislike any of Frodo’s friends, feels an irrational stab of annoyance that he quickly has to stifle. He knows Frodo’s entitled to friends, entitled to happiness, and Sam wants him to have that.

So Sam stuffs his hands into his pockets and forces himself to say, “That’s alright—you’ve done most of the work. I can do the rest.”

Meriadoc gives a little ‘whoop’ from the gate, but Frodo looks back at him in wide eyed surprised. “But I haven’t at all—the tree’s not even in the ground!”

Sam shrugs his shoulders. “I’ll do it.” When Frodo doesn’t look convinced, Sam insists, “It’ll be good for me to get a bit of exercise out here anyway. You know I like to feel useful every now and again.” 

At first, Frodo gives a little pause, as though leaving Sam a polite window in which to change his mind, but gardening is no chore to Sam, and he’s willing to give up his Frodo-time if it means making Frodo happy. Slowly, the smile returns to Frodo’s face. 

Then he says, “You’re a dear,” and leans in to peck Sam’s cheek. The kiss is instantaneous but wildly warm, soft, everything Sam ever wanted, and over far too soon. He numbly takes the shovel Frodo passes to him, but he can’t bring himself to watch as Frodo hops down the hill to walk off on Meriadoc’s arm. 

But at least he’ll have a new tree soon, and he can watch Frodo tend to it on other days.


End file.
